


Sacred Darkness

by ScreechTheMighty



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Blind!Thranduil, Depends on your interpretation of the headcanon, Derogatory use of the word "cripple" and other put-downs related to said self loathing, Gen, Potentially AU, Pre-Movies by several hundred years, Some self loathing related to injury recovery/adjusting to disability, Very mild spoilers for The Desolation of Smaug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 01:38:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1088078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScreechTheMighty/pseuds/ScreechTheMighty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It was dragon fire he had faced, wrath and ruin turned upon him. Even the magic of the elves could only do so much."</p>
<p>At the end of an age, Thranduil faces some substantial changes in his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sacred Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> A combination of my recent obsession with Thranduil and a fascinating headcanon by tumblr user aiffe drove me to write this. I could probably write an entire novel based on it, but seeing how Thranduil is freaking old, that would be really long novel. So have this one-shot instead. Keep in mind, I'm not a super-big Tolkien aficionado, so forgive me for any flubs in the mythos. See end of the work for a link to the original headcanon.

It was dragon fire he had faced, wrath and ruin turned upon him. Even the magic of the elves could only do so much. But to wake up to a world of vague shadows and nothing more felt cruel. It felt like punishment, though for what he did not know.

They could restore some small measure of sight to one eye and hide the scars under a glamour, but the other eye was beyond repair. It was one ill tiding after another. Oropher was dead, and Thranduil, his heir, was a cripple. They may have defeated Sauron’s forces, but it hardly felt like a victory.

Even when his physical wounds healed, he stayed in his room. Thranduil was afraid, though he would not admit it to anyone. The burden of the throne fell to him now, but what good was a blind king? How could he lead his people when he could no longer tell where his furniture was? How could he face them like this?

He paced the small section of his room that he did know, screamed when he was sure no one could hear. He hated being afraid; he hated being helpless. He hated moments where he started to stagger to the door and ask if he could see his father, only to remember his father was gone.

(Would he have been able to face his father in this condition?)

It was thoughts of his father that drew him from his misery. His father and his father’s legacy. Blinded or not, crippled or not, he would not become a disgrace. He would not be some hermit king, ruling from afar. Thranduil would be a good king. A  _great_  king.

So he began to pace his room again, but with a different purpose. It was not pent-up energy that drove him from one corner of the room to another. He was counting the steps it took to cross the room. He learned where the furniture was, how to judge distance based on sound, how to count discreetly without becoming distracted. He only walked into the furniture and walls a handful of times. Fortunately, there was no one around to witness it.

When he felt confident in his ability to navigate his room, he moved to the hallways.

The plan was to do so at night, when the halls were more isolated, and at a time when the guards were elsewhere. There was always the risk that someone would find him, but what would they do? Tell him to return to his quarters. The idea was amusing enough that Thranduil almost smiled. Almost.

(He had not smiled for some time now, he realized.)

The halls were easy enough to navigate, but Thranduil still moved slowly and kept one hand pressed against the wall. It was a simple enough task, until he encountered a staircase. He knew it was at the end of the hall. He had intended to ignore it, turn around, and make sure his step count was accurate. But he could not hear anyone around, and things had gone well so far. It seemed worth the risk.  _You’ll have to face them eventually._

Thranduil took a deep breath before navigating the first step. Then the second. The third. After eight steps, he began to think he would make it. It was on the twelfth that he overestimated and stepped down not on wood, but air.

If he had not been walking close to the wall, he probably would have fallen farther. As it was, Thranduil found himself resting on the stairs in an undignified sprawl, his body pressed against the wall to keep from slipping any more. _Thranduil, you fool, what were you thinking…_

"Sire!"

And now he had an audience.  _Thranduil, you fool._

"Don’t." An outstretched hand brushed against his shoulder, but quickly retreated when Thranduil pulled away. "I’m fine." He wasn’t fine. His injuries ached, his pride more so. "It’s nothing." At least he was able to stand on his own. Did these guards know that he couldn’t see them? At best, they were a cluster of dark, blurred shapes, the glint of their armor standing out slightly against the usual shadows. At least one of them must have guessed. Even if the rest of the forest didn’t know, those closest to the royal family must have heard by now. 

"…sire, are you certain…"

"I’m  _fine._ " Snapping was not exactly kingly behavior, but he did not want to be coddled, now more than ever. "Go."

Then, Thranduil turned and walked back up the stairs. Slowly, agonizingly so, and with one hand still pressed against the wall, but he made it up on his own power. He didn’t hear the guards retreat until he reached the top. He was uncertain if he was annoyed they didn’t leave sooner, or proud that they saw him make it.

_See? I’m fine._

~~~

_There’s no need for this_. That’s what everyone told him. Every adviser, every member of his family still remaining in Mirkwood, everyone who knew him and knew of his condition (his  _mutilation._ If there was something good he could take from this, it was that he didn’t have to see his unglamoured face). All told him that there was no need. You’re still healing. There’s time enough. So soon after your father’s death…

"Did you even have time to mourn him?"

That question gave him pause. More than that, it made him stop in front of the throne, one hand gripping the armrest so hard his knuckles turned white. “Why does it matter?” he asked.

"It matters because he was your  _father._ Thranduil…”

"I mourned."  _I still mourn._  “But there is a time for mourning, and that time has passed. There is a time for self-pity…” He sat down in the throne in one practiced, smooth movement. “…and that time has long passed.”

Practiced, just as every step from his room to the throne room had been. As every step around the throne room had been. All these weeks, he had been preparing for more than life in a permanent night. That would take time. He had plenty of that.

But there was one thing that could not wait.

"The Greenwood needs their king," he said finally. "And the Greenwood shall have their king."

~~~

He missed moonlight the most.

He could very faintly tell the difference between day and night, and sometimes very bright objects stood out in the shadows of his vision. But the light of the moon and stars had been denied him. Another cruel gift from the dragon that had maimed him.

If Thranduil stood in the right place in his room, he could almost detect a ray of moonlight coming in through his window. It was likely a trick of his imagination, but he clung to that ray of light all the same. It offered him some solace.

The day of his coronation drew near. He could walk from his room to the throne room and back without aid. He was learning to rely on his ears before his eyes. He was confident that soon he would be able to navigate the whole of the castle without aid. He was less certain about his ability to rule this kingdom.

Too many questions flooded his mind. How would he manage this or that? What would happen if the outside world (or even his subjects) found out that he was blind? How could he  _fight_ in this state? He needed to know how to fight. What kind of king could not lead his troops into battle?

Thranduil moved forward carefully until he guessed he was sitting in the ray of moonlight. The room did seem a bit brighter now. He took a deep breath.  _What would Oropher think of me now?_

He asked himself that question every day. The answer was generally ambiguous. In his darker moments, he thought not. No king would be proud to have a son with such deformities. All fond memories of his father forsook him, and all he could imagine was shame.

Not tonight. Tonight, as he sat in the moonlight and closed his eyes, he began to think that Oropher would be proud.

Thranduil would be king, and any hardships he faced, he would overcome. The rest was detail.

~~~

You could not tell that the Greenwood’s prince had been injured. Nor could you tell that he was counting his steps as he walked to the throne. If he was nervous, this too was hidden.

Many in the Greenwood thought this day would not come, or at least that it would not come so soon. After everything Thranduil had been through, it was surprising to see him take the throne.

Yet there he was, seating himself in one smooth, practiced motion.

Thranduil could not see the crown, but he could feel its weight on his head. It was a burden, yes, but in some ways it was liberating.

He had done it.

_Hail, Thranduil, king._

_~~~_

[Original Headcanon](http://aiffe.tumblr.com/post/70264082311/what-do-your-elf-eyes-see-so-basically-i-had)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to tumblr user just-a-storyteller for proofreading this, and aiffe for a) helping me figure out timeline stuff and b) coming up with something so neat in the first place.
> 
> The title is a reference to Tauriel's line about all light being sacred to the Eldar, but since Thranduil is blind now all he has are shadows...yeah, it's not that clever. I tried.
> 
> You can also find this story on my tumblr if tumblr is your thing (screechthemighty.tumblr.com).


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